Get Out Of My Bed
by x-LoveIsOurResistance
Summary: Santana's birthday party seemingly got a little out of hand, and when she wakes up the next morning, it's not next to someone she would ever dream of seeing in her bed. Santana/Jesse.
1. Chapter 1

a/n; Okay, so my first story. Not sure where I'm going to take this yet, because I'm one of those people who never knows how to end a story. But we'll see how it goes. If you like it, review. I realize Santana/Jesse is a bit of an odd pairing but I really thing it could work, so here goes.

**INTRODUCTION.  
**_the morning after._

Holy shit she was hung over. Like.. really hung over.

She could feel that horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach where it was screaming 'let me sick up all of last night's alcohol, I beg of you'. But she would not throw up. Throwing up after drinking was for lightweights and she had a very longstanding reputation to maintain. First, she would check her house for survivors, then she would throw up. Maybe a few times. Groaning, the Latina shielded her eyes with a limp arm. The room was swaying a little uncomfortably and she contemplated for a few moments whether she was in fact, not hung over, but still drunk from the previous night. Mouth dry as hell, she pressed her lips together, shuffling a little to test whether she'd vomit if she moved. It seemed okay..ish, so slowly, she propped herself up on her arms. It seemed like it took forever, and her arms were aching like a bitch after the simplest of tasks. But then, she froze. Frozen stiff, she realized there was something or rather _someone_ next to her.. and it was moving. Shit, shit, shit. Never had she wanted to wake up to the face of Noah Puckerman so bad in her entire life. At least with Puck she knew there was never any strings attached and it was definitely never complicated afterwards. If she'd accidently got carried away with Brittany again she was going to cry.

"Good morning."

That was not Noah Puckerman. Or Brittany.

If Santana had got up from her seated position any faster, she would have broken some kind of record. And maybe her back. Pulling up the sheet with her, she made sure that every inch of her underwear clad body was covered up from sight. It wasn't like she didn't mind showing her body off, but to him? Well. Dark eyes looked down before she could even reply to him, something bristling against her skin. Letting the sheet drop a little from her chest, she realized there was money in her bra. It wasn't even real money. Was this some kind of sick joke? Well, on the upside, at least she was still in her underwear and wasn't laid with him naked?

"What in God's name are you doing in my bed?" she demanded taking another step back as if he was dangerous, her tone somewhere in between annoyed and repulsed.

"That's always nice to hear in the morning."

Jesse St. James propped himself up on his elbows, shirtless perfection leaning against the cold metal bars of her headboard. That smirk playing on his lips suggested that she was wrong in thinking they didn't have sex and it made her want to punch him in the face. Grinning like an idiot, he seemed completely un-hung over and sober. Maybe he hadn't been drinking. Or he was somehow hang over resistant, he was kind of a freak. Chuckling, he ran his fingers through his prized hair before looking at the money stuffed in her bra.

"I think we played strip Monopoly." He smiled innocently, that famous smile that melted hearts and broke others, pointing this time at the multi-colored cash slipped in her pink and black laced lingerie. It clashed horribly and now she really wanted to be sick. What the actual fuck? How drunk had she been? And how the fuck do you play strip Monopoly? The room tilted a little.

"I'm not going to find hotels and community chest cards anywhere, am I?" she asked, jokingly of course (even if her tone suggested she was utterly serious), pulling at her bra straps before removing the itchy paper and dropping it to the floor. All of a sudden, she'd contracted an awfully painful throbbing sensation in her head. This was too much. She'd totally slept with Jesse St. James and didn't he like.. screwed around with Manhands? Ew, ew, ew. Santana let her hand press over her mouth, hindering her next words and making them almost inaudible. "I'm going to be sick."

"Relax, Lopez. We didn't have sex if that's what you're thinking." He assured, his tone as stupidly calm as ever. Smug. He was smug that she was thinking about having sex with him, wasn't he? Santana remembered now why he annoyed her so badly.

Wait, they didn't have sex though, that was a good thing. Santana didn't really hate Jesse, she reserved that kind of emotional drain for people who mattered, but she did have a strong dislike for him ever since he joined their Glee club. There was just something off about him, he didn't seem genuine whatsoever and she didn't understand how Rachel couldn't see it. There would have been no way in hell, even if she'd consumed all the liquor under the sun that she would ever be willing to sleep with someone like him. He was more self obsessed than she was, and that was saying something and it was a total turnoff. Any guy she was with would have to pay all attention to her. Duh. It was why he and Rachel were so stupidly perfect for each other it made her want to throw up. A lot of things were making her want to throw up right now. Maybe she should just get it over and done with. As soon as the money was discarded from her underwear, the sheet took its place covering her up once more.

"Good. I knew I couldn't have been _**that**_ drunk." She shot at him, scowling a little bit. Psht, how could she have ever even considered it a possibility?

"I supposed I should be offended.." he started, a smirk playing on his lips as he shrugged his shoulders a little bit. "If I didn't know otherwise."

Santana eyed him suspiciously for a moment, looking for a flicker on his face that told her what the hell he was going on about now? Speaking in his stupid riddles her mind couldn't be bothered to work out right now. Couldn't he just explain it in regular human talk instead of being a smartass all the God damn time?

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow in question, taking a step forward. Okay, now she was curious.

"Trust me, you were throwing yourself at me. It was all rather dramatic until you passed out on the kitchen floor. Puckerman wasn't best amused... I think he realized I'm competition after all. First Rachel, now you." he said, sounding like the drama queen he was in all the right places, before he laid back casually once more. Jesse St James looked so smug Santana would have liked to set his hair on fire.

Firstly, Santana refused to believe she would sink so low as to throw herself at any guy, let alone Jesse St. James. Secondly, there was no way in hell Puck would have given a damn. Not that he was the person playing most on her mind right now – that fool was looking rather at home in her bed. And thirdly, there was no way in hell she drank enough to pass out on the kitchen floor.. however she had drank enough to be completely oblivious to the past nights events. Shit.

"Trust you?" she rolled her eyes, yeah right. Like she would ever trust him. Santana would only believe it when she heard it from the likes of Brittany.. or maybe Mike or something. "That still doesn't explain why you're in my bed."

Jesse laughed and the smirk was in place once more. Closing her eyes, Santana sat down on the edge of the bed, it dipping a little under her tiny weight, still holding the sheet close. If they hadn't had sex, there was no way he was getting luck enough to see all this. Nuh uh. Opening her eyes, the room swayed for a little bit and she felt a little weak, but was determined to hear out his explanation no matter what kind of state she was in. She would listen, kick him out and then get whoever was left in the house to make her some belated birthday pancakes. Stuffing her face until she threw up – the ultimate hang over cure. That, and lots of cups of tea. Mm.

"Well like I said, you were pretty out of it on the kitchen floor while we were playing strip Monopoly. It looked rather like Karofsky was about to eat you, so Puck suggested we take you to lie down. But he was too drunk himself to escort you, so I did the honours."

It wouldn't be the first time Puck was too drunk to walk. Or that she'd gotten too drunk to get up off the floor. Or that Karofsky would have tried to take advantage of her. It was like every party she'd ever thrown, except this time, Jesse was here to make sure nothing went wrong.. kind of.

"What and you just decided to sleep in my bed? Perv."

"You cried because you didn't want to be alone." Jesse said, after hesitation and an eye roll at her childish insult. Partly, he hesitated because he was sure that she wouldn't believe for a second that she'd cried to him, but partly because he wasn't sure he wanted to explain why she had been crying to him. Maybe that story would be saved for another day entirely. Jesse shrugged his shoulders and did his best to look slightly sympathetic towards the hostile Cheerio. That was all there was to it. Santana groaned and flopped down in to the covers, shaking her head a little. She'd cried? It sounded like her, she was one of those drunks who'd cry to someone who would listen about how everyone hated her or didn't respect her or she was too fat. What. An. Embarrassment. "I'm going to go make some coffee.." Jesse told her quietly sympathetic of the headache he assumed she had from all that drinking, to which she simply nodded. Well, this was a very different morning after than she was used to. As the curly haired, stripped to the boxers senior got out of her bed, she watched him intently until he was finally out of sight. Damn she hoped he would just leave and not come back, she wanted to sleep now.

Ugh.


	2. Chapter 2

a/n; I realize I didn't update in a while and I'm really sorry for that. In fact, I'm generally really sorry that this update will also really suck. But it's 2:51am right now. I really wanted to get something done so you didn't think I'd abandoned it, and there's not much Jesse/Santana going on here, it's kinda just setting the scene. I'll try and get some more chapters up quicker this time, but I'm moving house and stuff, so blah. Rant over. Read and review. :)

**CHAPTER ONE.  
**_a quiet little get together. _

"You realize she wants your Gleek club friends to come, right? I think she's like.. proud."

Santana Lopez and her older and much taller brother, Mat, stood over the kitchen sink, carrying out their mother's instructions of peeling potatoes. Her mom had to be taking the piss, there was enough here to cure world hunger. How many people was she actually deluded in to thinking were coming to this little get together? Sure, her family was a little bigger than most.. but come on.

It was her birthday. And she was degraded to peeling more skin off of her knuckles than the potatoes, just because her mother was _proud. _Sure, Santana enjoyed Glee club and all.. but why couldn't her mother be proud of her being on the Cheerios? It was something the older Latina was never warm to – which kinda sucked when it meant so much to her daughter. In fact, if she ever tried to bring it up, her mother would give her the cold shoulder or change the topic being less than subtle. Santana loved her, but God damn she was frustrating sometimes. At least the Glee club coming around for lunch with parts of her crazy family no sane humans should be exposed to, was better than being embarrassed in front of the most popular people in school. At least with the people at the bottom of the McKinley hierarchy, she wouldn't be so humiliated? Right? Damn, she hoped so.

"It would make a change." Santana groaned, rolling her dark eyes, not actually looking at him. Okay, she was exaggerating. Her mom was proud of her sometimes, like when she won dancing competitions or got good grades. But her mother was never quite as proud of her as she was of Mat. Blah, sob, whine, whatever, she didn't care. Santana did care about her hands though.

The water was starting to sting at the little cuts scattering her knuckles now, and it was pissing her off.

"Can you finish them, please?" she pouted, putting on her best 'I'm you little sister, love me?' innocent look. Puppy dog eyes to complete. Of course, her brother wasn't buying it, he was an ass.

Then, after a while in which time he was obviously thinking, his eyes lit up. Oh great, that could only mean he was concocting some kind of plan she would no doubt despise.

"On one condition." He smirked.

There it was. There was always one condition.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously and drying her hands carefully on a towel, so as not to irritate the cuts further. "Spit it out, get it over with."

"Let me come to your birthday party."

Santana watched him, and he looked awfully pleased with himself. Before she would answer, she would weigh out whether leaving him to finish the rest of the basket of potatoes was worth him trying to get in Quinn Fabray's pants again. Although maybe now she was pregnant he wouldn't bother. She kind of looked like a whale and it was totally gross. Maybe having her brother there would take the heat off her when it came to her family too. As much as no one would ever verbally admit it, he was the favorite of the two and always would be. He had a charm about him. Even when you were mad at him you weren't actually mad at him and it made Santana want to attack him with the potato peeler.

Sighing out through her nose, she looked at him sternly.

"I swear to God.. if you hit on Quinn or Brittany I will break your face."

"What about your Glee club friends? Any of them hot?" he asked, an innocent pout now playing on his lips, deciding to ignore the little comment about his obvious plans to get in there before Puck had.

"Oh yeah.. There's this one girl. Rachel." She nodded, squinting her eyes a little as if not being able to comprehend her perfection. "She's like. I don't even know how to explain because there.. There's just no words for it. I'd go _completely_ gay for her."

Santana couldn't tell whether her brother realized she was being completely and utterly sarcastic and that she would rather die than have Rachel's man-hands anywhere near her.

"Sweet." He nodded, setting back to work on the rest of the potatoes, a gormless grin on his face. Nope, apparently he was as stupid as ever and hadn't picked up on it after all. Thing was, he wasn't even stupid.. he was just like, occasionally very socially retarded towards her. But hey. Maybe she would wear one of those kindergarten outfits, complete with the knee socks and everything! Just for him!

"Loser." Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes and turning on her heels, making her way out of the impressively large kitchen, heading to her bedroom.

"No. YOU!" he called after her. Really, that was the best he could come up with?

Santana didn't even catch his lack-if-insult as she skipped up the stairs, too busy pulling out her cell phone ready to text Brittany to get her ass over and help her get ready.

First, there was going to be a lunch. A small get together in the garden where her family could come and bring her gifts and hug her too many times whilst drinking too much alcohol and, apparently, eating too many potatoes. It was a tradition, and no matter how completely retarded her family was, she loved it. She just didn't love the idea of Glee club intruding on it. But, her mother insisted, and she tended to be incredibly pressuring. Using guilt trips, even. But thankfully, when her family scattered, so too would her parents to start a long weekend vacation in their holiday home out-of-state. This meant she got the house to herself, and she knew her mom and dad weren't naive enough to think that she wouldn't throw a real party as soon as they'd backed out of the driveway. That would be what kept her going through it all. And Rachel and the likes could think twice if they thought they were staying for the real celebrations. Santana Lopez would not choose to celebrate her birthday with them by choice. Or, so she would convince the Cheerios and football players, anyway.

Surprisingly, Brittany didn't get lost on her way to Santana's house, and arrived not long after she text. She looked cute. A navy blue and white polka dot dress, matching shoes.. but a God awful ribbon with ducks printed on it was wrapped around her head like she was some kind of bird loving hippy. Santana made up some excuse like, her cousins would get jealous and try to steal it, so Brittany carefully folded it up and hid it in Santana's jewelry box with caution.

"Don't tell them it's in there? It was my grandma's." Brittany whispered, looking behind her to the doorway to make sure no one was listening in on the conversation. Especially not her cousins. "Promise?"

"Promise." Santana smiled, feeling a little bad. Brittany was adorable no matter what she put in her hair, but she couldn't exactly take back her psycho cousins excuse now.

Santana hurriedly got changed into the flower-print summer dress her mother had picked her, and sat as Brittany curled her hair for her. Actually, despite Brittany's lack of skills and apparent brain when it came to most simple tasks, curling hair, she got perfect. And that was exactly how Santana looked when they were done. A natural application of makeup and a handed down necklace from her grandma and she was ready to go. Spot on, as someone arrived. Of course, her family had been carefully flooding in to her huge house since the morning, but she assumed this was one of her guests. Someone who was perfectly on time. Pft.

Hopping down the stairs, her curls and Brittany bouncing behind, she stopped at the front door, opening it quickly. Her face dropped immediately to see her first guests were Rachel Berry and Jesse St. James. Of course, the perfectionist freaks were punctual. Rachel actually didn't look that bad, and it made Santana want to slam the door in her face. Looking at her silently for a moment she took a step back, forcing a smile, taking one pristinely wrapped gift from her. Of course, Rachel wouldn't have wanted to buy her a gift, Santana suspected the only reason she had one was so that she didn't look rude in front of her family if everyone else showed up with one.

"Thanks Manhands. Party's in the back yard." She smirked, nodding through to the kitchen which lead out onto an extensive, well maintained garden, deciding it best not to even acknowledge Jesse's existence until she'd had a little somethin' somethin' to drink.

Rachel nodded and forced a smile, smoothing down her skirt before Jesse took her hand protectively, watching Santana with his wide, mysterious eyes. He wasn't quite smirking, but he wasn't smiling either. Actually, she wasn't sure what he was doing but she wished he would stop because it was making her feel uncomfortable. Pressing her lips together she locked her eyes with his momentarily, waiting for him to start walking. The Latina cocked an eyebrow. She wasn't going to let him know he was making her feel uncomfortable. But he stared back, for what seemed like longer than it actually was.

"What?" she finally blurted out, resting her hands on her hips, taking her usual Cheerio stance. Her voice and facial expression dripping with the defensive bitchy attitude that she wore so well.

"Happy birthday, Santana." He shrugged, before looking away casually, pressing her lips to the top of Rachel's head and whisking her away gracefully to the back yard.

After a while of just standing there, Brittany leaned forward to mumble something in to Santana's ear.

"He creeps me out. I think he's hiding something.. In his hair. Look." She pointed, confusing Santana a little. His hair didn't look any different to how it usually did. Not that she really took much notice of his hair. Well. No, she didn't. He was gross. Brittany rarely made any sense anyway.

This was going to be a _really_ long afternoon.


End file.
